The Grim's Curse
by lexi.atel
Summary: What I see everyday when I walk into the "Great Hall'


_**Author's Note**_

_Harry Potter, the characters, and the involving world belongs to JK Rowlings._

**For bellatrixlestrange123's Wacky OC Challenge**

**PROMPT: **_The eccentric visionary reviled by his peers who discovers their heritage and destiny and who is actually a unique supernatural being._

* * *

They laugh at me. They point and make fun. They tease me for the way I walk. They tease me because I do not talk. They think I am strange. If only they knew. For if they were in my shoes they would be strange too.

I stand at the entrance; which everyone besides myself calls the 'Great Hall'. It may be spectacular to them, but for me, there is nothing great about it. I do not comprehend the magnificent lighting. I do not gawk at the ceiling that replicates the real sky outside. I do not care about the happy laughter of jokes made by friends. I do not hear the cheers when a House Cup winner is announced. I do not celebrate joyous times. I do not notice such things.

What I do notice is the souls of nearly three hundred people. So many of them are children. What I see is not worth smiling about. It is not worth cheering about. It is not worth laughter. It is not.

I wave my wand to attempt to block what I see. My spell is wordless. I look like a maniac to the rest of them. Someone collides into me from behind. It is purposely done. I know this. It happens all the time. When you are strange, you are a target. You are a victim.

I lay there on my stomach. I wait for them to stop their sneering. I wait for them to grow bored. It is always best to lay still. I can not attack them. I can not lose my control. If I did, I do not know where my mind would run to.

The Headmistress comes to scold them harshly. She is good about that. I would smile, but I do not smile. I see too much dark. I see too much horror. I would thank her, but I can not. I can not speak. It is part of the curse. The one Grim gave me.

Nonetheless, she smiles at me. She helps me up. She asks if I am alright; a near daily routine for the past two years. I nod without looking at her. If I look at her too long, I see it. It will play non stop in my head.

In my third year of Hogwarts, the kind, stern old Headmistress will fall in this very room. Right in front of the student body. She will die during the opening speech. Her heart will give out at the age of one hundred and sixty-seven. There will be screaming. There will be gasps. There will be crying. There will be chaos.

I will not cry though. I am unable to. Not on the outside. I can only look at the scene blankly. Inside, my soul will weep. It will mourn for her. She is my favourite of all. She is the fairest of all those in charge. I will miss her.

Hers is not the only one I see. James Potter the Second, will die when he is only twenty-eight. Much like his grandmother, he will die protecting his son from a murderer. James will not be successful though. His son will join him in a white sheet of light.

When Scorpius Malfoy is thirty-three, he will go in an explosion. His wife, Rose, will take her life because of it. They will leave their four children parent less.

There is more. It never ends. Death is everywhere.

I see the deaths of all these people in this hall they call 'Great'. I know how. I know why. I know when. If they knew what I know, they would no longer laugh. Their jeering would cease. They would not tease. They would not push me around. They would not whisper crude things into my ear. No one would touch me. They would fear me.

I see their death. I see their last breathing moments before they pass on. Before they leave behind their friends. Their family. This world.

At least they all have something to look forward to. The afterlife is a grand one. Much better than this one. The life in this world is filled with horror. I know it. I see it. I have tried to stop it. I can not. If I try to stop a death, Grim will seek them until the deed is finished. Their death will be worse than originally intended. More agony. More brutality. More terrorizing. I only assisted with three victims of Grim to learn this. Grim warned me. I did not listen.

I have no choice but to see it. To watch it. I can not stop Grim.

I am a Whisp.

The darkest one of all.


End file.
